


end of reel.

by wentz



Series: 24 FPS [3]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Film School, Body Worship, Bottom Suh Youngho | Johnny, Bruises, Domestic Boyfriends, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Some Plot, post-college
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:47:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28198644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wentz/pseuds/wentz
Summary: Taeyong lets his eyes wander, tracing the lines of Johnny’s body: the muscle definition, the ligaments that stretch and pull with his movements, the bony bits that stick out at angles. All of it is beautiful.When Johnny edges past the toilet on his way to the shower, Taeyong reaches out and holds his hips. He presses his thumb hard into a big bruise that blooms over Johnny’s hipbone.One.“This one’s new,” he says.“Tener,” Johnny replies by way of explanation. He shows Taeyong another bruise on his forearm. “So’s this one.”Two.Taeyong touches it.This is the first part of their little ritual.
Relationships: Lee Taeyong/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Series: 24 FPS [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1721245
Comments: 18
Kudos: 220





	end of reel.

**Author's Note:**

> !! cw for in-depth description of bruises !!
> 
> this is the long-delayed epilogue to johnyong's story in the 24fps universe. i hope you enjoy it. if you're new to 24fps and interested in reading it, you can find the thread [here](https://twitter.com/kittyong/status/1232263791724941312?s=20).
> 
> un-beta'd

“I’m home!”

Taeyong glances over his shoulder and turns the stovetop down before going to intercept his boyfriend at the door. He wouldn’t hesitate to deck anyone who even implied that Taeyong waits around all day for Johnny to come home from work like a fucking 1950s housewife or some shit—seriously, fuck that—but he can’t deny the way his heart speeds up at his boyfriend’s call. Taeyong resents himself for it a little bit but it’s true.

“Welcome home, Gumby.” He kisses Johnny’s cheek, winding his hands around his shoulders to press his fingers into the knots he knows bind up the muscles there. “How was work?”

Johnny groans, shedding his shirt without even trying to fend off Taeyong’s hands. He plucks at the front of his undershirt, unsticking the cotton from his skin. “Hot as shit. Did you know the high was one-oh-one today? Fucking ridiculous.” He tosses his shirt onto the lid of the washing machine. Taeyong gracefully doesn’t nag him for it even though Johnny _knows_ that’s one of his pet peeves. “What about you? How was work?”

Taeyong hums sympathetically and slides his hands under Johnny’s undershirt to help him pull it off. “Boa texted me this morning and told me I didn’t need to come in. I got a lot of writing done.” Johnny’s shirt comes off and Taeyong’s hands come away from Johnny’s skin with a little sheen of sweat and grit on them. He rubs his fingertips together, feeling the texture between them. “Did you stay hydrated?”

“Yeah.” Johnny sits on the floor to tug at the laces of his work boots. It’s the one pair of shoes that he can’t just toe off and kick in the direction of the small pile of Johnny’s shoes that lives next to the neat line of Taeyong’s shoes. For that, they’re one of Taeyong’s favorite pairs of Johnny’s shoes. “There was a cute little PA running around and offering everyone water every, like, fifteen minutes. I think the AD must’ve put her up to it.” He shakes his head. “Poor kid probably thought she was gonna get to do something cool.”

A timer goes off in the kitchen, calling Taeyong away from watching his boyfriend meticulously unlace his boots and back to dinner-in-progress. As he finishes washing his hands, Johnny calls after him. “What’re you making?”

Sighing, Taeyong pokes at the sauce bubbling on the stove. He likes cooking—it’s meditative for him—but since they moved in together he’s been discovering that Johnny is kind of a picky eater. It’s a challenge to find good, balanced meals that they both enjoy. Taeyong loves Johnny but there’s only so much grilled chicken breast he can stomach. “How do you feel about eel?”

A hand slips around his waist from behind. Johnny kisses the scar at the corner of Taeyong’s eye as he peers over his shoulder at the food on the stovetop. “Smells good.”

“Well, smell is, like, half of taste, so hopefully that means you’ll like it.” Still stirring the contents of his saucepan, Taeyong leans back against his boyfriend’s chest. Johnny lowers his head to leave slow kisses behind Taeyong’s ear, beneath the line of his jaw, down the curve of his neck. Taeyong preens under the attention. He could purr if he wasn’t busy making sure his marinade isn’t burning. On a particularly attentivekiss over his pulse point, Taeyong raises his shoulder to chase Johnny away. “Quit, you’re tickling me.”

Johnny gives Taeyong’s waist a playful squeeze and draws away, padding into the adjacent living room on socked feet. He looks like something off the cover of Men’s Health in just his low-slung work jeans. “Do I have time for a shower before it’s ready?”

“Probably.” Taeyong pouts. “But you should wait until I’m done.”

He can hear the sigh Johnny heaves even over the sound of the range hood. “Yong,” he whines. “I reek of diesel exhaust.”

If Johnny thinks he can out-whine Taeyong, he’s sorely mistaken. “Please, Gumby?” Taeyong wheedles. “I’ll wash your hair.”

Another sigh from the living room, and then the telltale squeaky sound of a body flopping down onto their new couch. Johnny has a very cute but very destructive habit of throwing his body around on the furniture. It finally did in their old couch a few weeks ago, busting one of the cushions wide open. The brand new one that they bought as a treat is made of faux leather and extremely squeaky. They tried… “breaking it in,” so to speak, but they both dissolved into a giggle fit halfway through because the squeaking noises were so fucking comical (“I feel like I’m fucking a rubber ducky,” Johnny had wheezed through tears of laughter) and wound up moving to the bed in the end.

Johnny vocalises something that Taeyong can’t quite catch. “What?” he calls, raising his voice.

“I said _fine_ ,” Johnny repeats, passive-aggressive but clearer this time. “Do you need kitchen help?”

“Absolutely not.” Kitchen help from Johnny usually translates to twice as many dirty dishes. The man has no concept of dish economy. “There’s a new episode of Little Gold Men out.”

The couch squeaks again as Johnny rouses, probably reaching for the remote to pull their Spotify podcast subscriptions up on the TV. “What about?”

“The new Tarantino.”

“We should probably go see that, huh?”

Taeyong wrinkles his nose at the fillet he’s preparing. His silence must be all the answer Johnny needs because a moment later, he hears Johnny snort. Still, the podcast starts playing. Johnny turns the soundbar up loud enough for Taeyong to listen in from the kitchen. From the corner of his eye, he sees Johnny’s socks go flying across the living room, aimed into the open door of their bedroom, shortly followed by his jeans. Taeyong can’t hear Johnny’s satisfied sigh from here but his mind’s ear supplies the sound. He smiles.

Two years ago, this kind of daily life felt so far away—impossibly far, to the point of being intangible at times. It had been hard for Taeyong to admit but Johnny had been right. Long-distance was more difficult than he’d anticipated. He’d thought it couldn’t be much different than when they were doing their “we’re not dating but we sext a lot and call one another pet names and have a mutual understanding that we’re very in love but just aren’t addressing it for various reasons” thing. He had been wrong.

Being with Johnny but not being _with_ him tortured Taeyong. He woke up alone, ate alone, came home to an empty apartment. His routine was no different than what he’d been doing for several years. _That_ was what drove him crazy. It seemed like everything should be different now that Johnny was officially part of his life and it _wasn’t_.

It had been hard on Johnny, too. His love language depends heavily on acts of service and physical touch, which they obviously couldn’t do long distance. Meanwhile, Taeyong is a words–of–affirmation–ass–bitch, and Johnny would rather die than talk about his feelings. The learning curve on thatone put a real strain on their relationship after the first few weeks of fluttering butterflies transitioned into the crucible of a truly long-distance relationship without any upcoming events to give either one of them an excuse to visit.

Then Baekhyun had called Taeyong and told him there was an opening as a personal assistant to one of his buddies—a director currently based out of Los Angeles. “She’s been talking a lot about Chicago’s indie scene. Making some noise about joining the faculty at CCC when next fall rolls around. It’s a little bit of a gamble, of course, but… If you impress her,” he said, eyes tactfully on his computer but a sly smile playing around his lips, “She’ll probably ask if you want to come with her when she goes.” 

The decision had been easy. When Taeyong moved into the tiny-ass studio apartment in LA, he didn’t even bother unpacking most of his boxes. He transitioned to Chicago along with his boss a year later, and he and Johnny started renting a little one-bedroom not far from Johnny’s parents. The commute is a bitch but the lower rent pretty much splits the difference. Even though Johnny would never complain, Taeyong can tell that he sleeps easier a fifteen-minute drive from home and that makes the long trip into the city more than worth it.

They finish their podcast and eat. Johnny inhales the grilled eel in his fucking boxers and complains about the craft services on set. He’s been working electric on a feature set for the past couple of weeks and as the production gets closer to wrap, the hours lengthen and the lunches worsen.

“Taeil would never do that to us,” Johnny says, shoveling a huge spoonful of rice into his mouth. “He’d keep us fed.”

Taeyong pooches out his bottom lip. “Taeilie hyung,” he pouts. “I miss him. Did you hear he and Gongmyung are trying to adopt?”

“Seriously?” Johnny raises his eyebrows. “Seems kinda early.”

“Not that early.” Taeyong shrugs. “They’ve been married five years. They’ve been together for, like, eight. Besides, we’re talking about the couple who fucking eloped on a whim and then told everyone via Instagram.” Johnny concedes the point with a tip of his head. Taeyong studies him over his spoon for a few seconds, then clears his throat. “You don’t want kids?”

A wary look descends on Johnny’s face. He freezes mid-chew for a fraction of a second, then puts on an overly-casual air to compensate. “I haven’t really thought about it.” Another spoonful of rice crams into his cheek.

Taeyong hums, also overly casual, and pokes at his eel with his chopsticks. “Maybe, you know. You should.” He chases a piece of broccoli around his plate. “Like, maybe at least think about thinking about it.”

Johnny responds with a vague head bob.

“I want kids,” Taeyong says. “One day. Not anytime soon, obviously. But one day. Way down the line.”

Another nod. Johnny swallows his massive mouthful of rice and smiles. “Okay.” He grabs both of their cups and gets up to replenish their drinks. “I think we should probably try getting a pet rock or something first, work our way up to a, you know… baby. I get nervous about things depending on me to live.”

Taeyong laughs. “We’ll adopt our way up the evolutionary chain. First a houseplant, then a goldfish, then a turtle…”

“I dunno if I’m ready for a houseplant yet.” Johnny sticks his head in the fridge for a moment, then comes out with a beer in one hand and a LaCroix in the other. “Maybe we should start with, like, a Tamagotchi or something that can be rebooted.”

“I think I still have my old Nintendogs game lying around somewhere.” Taeyong accepts the LaCroix and the kiss on the cheek that Johnny gives him as he returns to the table. “I thought you were gonna freak out about this.”

Johnny shrugs. “I am a little freaked out,” he admits. “But I love you, so it’s cool.”

Love covers over a multitude of freak-outs. That’s the foremost lesson Taeyong has learned over the course of his relationship with Johnny.

Since Taeyong cooked, Johnny washes the dishes— _still_ in his boxers—while Taeyong finishes off his beer (read: Taeyong steals the beer that Johnny only managed to get two sips of before getting up to clean) and answers emails. He gets so sucked into pursuing inbox zero that it takes him a minute to catch up when Johnny touches his shoulder with a still-wet hand and says, “I’m gonna go shower now.” 

He slams his laptop shut and scrambles to follow Johnny into their bathroom. “Wait for me!”

The water’s already running when Taeyong slips into the bathroom. Johnny’s looking at his reflection in the mirror, poking at the light sunburn that dusts his forehead and nose. Taeyong takes a seat on the toilet lid, leans his cheek against one knee, and watches. This is the first part of their little ritual.

The second part of the ritual begins when Johnny sheds his underwear. Taeyong lets his eyes wander, tracing the lines of Johnny’s body: the muscle definition, the ligaments that stretch and pull with his movements, the bony bits that stick out at angles. All of it is beautiful. 

When Johnny edges past the toilet on his way to the shower, Taeyong reaches out and holds his hips. He presses his thumb hard into a big bruise that blooms over Johnny’s hipbone. _One_.

“This one’s new,” he says.

“Tener,” Johnny replies by way of explanation. He shows Taeyong another bruise on his forearm. “So’s this one.”

 _Two._ Taeyong touches it. More bruises litter the skin of his forearm. _Three, four, five…_ Taeyong counts up to _nine_ before Johnny tugs away.

“Wasting hot water,” he says, slipping past the curtain into the shower. Taeyong strips off and climbs in after him.

The single light over their bathroom mirror is too wimpy to shed much light beyond their dark blue shower curtain so Taeyong abandons his count for now in favor of fulfilling his hair-washing promise. It’s one of Johnny’s favorite things that they do. They sit on the floor of the tub so Taeyong can reach easier. Taeyong does his best to commit to memory the soft, happy sounds Johnny makes while Taeyong massages his scalp.

After his hair is washed, conditioned, and thoroughly rinsed, Johnny stands up again and goes about the business of washing up. While Johnny putters about the little shower soaping up his washcloth, Taeyong runs his hands over his back and shoulders, looking for knotted-up spots to work out. After a long day on set, there are more knotted-up spots than not. Johnny swipes the washcloth over his shoulders and the lathered-up body wash adds a fragrant slide to Taeyong’s amateur massage.

Johnny groans and stops mid-wash when Taeyong’s thumbs circle over a particularly tight spot near his spine. “Oh, fuck.”

“There?” Taeyong digs his thumb in more firmly. A little punched-out exhale stutters out of Johnny’s lungs in response. Taeyong bites his lip to hold back a groan of his own and reaches around Johnny’s waist to splay his other hand over Johnny’s stomach. He strokes the taut skin stretched over Johnny’s abs, fingers dipping in and out of Johnny’s navel. “You’re so tense, baby.”

Johnny just grunts in response. The hand holding his washcloth falls idle. For a moment, they’re both quiet as Taeyong alternates between firm and soft touches, trying to coax the tightness out of the muscle. 

Johnny’s slow, heavy breaths echo around the tile walls of the shower, strangely loud even under the water. Little tongues of heat start to lick up out of Taeyong’s gut, setting his nerves alight. He leans forward, plastering himself along the line of Johnny’s back. The hand tracing over Johnny’s stomach slips down to find his boyfriend’s dick. A thrill flutters in Taeyong’s chest when he feels that it’s not completely soft. _Just a little bit,_ Taeyong thinks, smiling against the soap-slick skin of Johnny’s back as he gives Johnny’s cock a few experimental tugs. _As a treat._

“Yong,” Johnny groans. He takes Taeyong’s wrist and pushes his hand away gently.

He kisses one of the bumps of Johnny’s spine, obediently returning both hands to Johnny’s stomach. “You don’t want to?” he asks, voice sweet as can be.

Johnny’s back rises and falls with a sigh. “It’s not that I don’t _want_ to, I’m just… tired.”

Taeyong peels himself away from Johnny’s back and goes back to rinsing it off. “That’s okay, sweetie.” He watches the soap trail in rivulets along the muscles of Johnny’s back and smiles, softer this time.

He climbs out of the shower first. By the time Johnny finishes rinsing off, Taeyong has already dried off and has a clean, fluffy-soft towel open and waiting for Johnny. He rises onto his toes for a kiss as he wraps it around Johnny’s waist.

With their lips still touching, Taeyong murmurs, “You’re still hard.” He slips one hand under Johnny’s towel and wraps his fingers around his dick, not moving, just holding. He sweeps his thumb across the crown, a barely-there touch that draws another shallow sigh out of Johnny’s chest.

Johnny swallows. His Adam’s apple bobs right at Taeyong’s eye level. “Yeah.”

Taeyong lets go of Johnny’s semi to trail the back of his finger along its underside. “Do you want me to take care of you, big baby?” He kisses the hollow of Johnny’s neck, letting his lips linger against the wet skin. “I’ll do everything, angel. You can just lay back and relax and I’ll make you feel so good.”

A half-choked squeak catches at the back of Johnny’s throat. Weakly, he mumbles, “Jesus Christ, Taeyong. Your mouth is—”

Never one to miss an opportunity, Taeyong smiles sweetly. Under the towel, he rubs gentle circles over the spot under Johnny’s crown that drives him crazy. “I can use my mouth if you want.”

Johnny sucks in a sharp breath and then groans, rolling his eyes. “You’re so annoying.”

Laughing, Taeyong slips out from under the towel and tugs on Johnny’s hand to lead him out of the bathroom. “Come on, Gumby,” he orders. “Come lie down.”

He throws the comforter out of the way while Johnny dries off so as not to soak their sheets (Taeyong almost tells him not to bother—he suspects they’ll probably have to wash the sheets after he’s done having his way with Johnny anyways), then Johnny climbs into bed. The moment his back relaxes into the mattress, he unleashes a huge half-groan, half-sigh, the biggest one yet.

“I’m so glad you convinced me to spring for the fancy mattress,” he mumbles, words slurring slightly from sheer relief.

Taeyong smiles as he arranges Johnny’s limbs into a comfy spread-eagle, careful not to pull too hard. “I’m always right.”

“Yeah,” Johnny agrees blearily. His eyes are drooping closed. 

Perfect. Taeyong settles on his knees between Johnny’s ankles and skims his fingertips up Johnny’s legs. The latter squirms a little, wrinkling his nose as Taeyong pets against the grain of his leg hair. He goes still again when Taeyong reaches the top of his hip and reverses the trip all the way back down to his ankles.

This is the fourth and final part of their ritual.

He starts his count over from zero so that he can work his way up from Johnny’s ankles. _One,_ the top of Johnny’s foot where he must’ve rested something heavy on his boot while carrying it. _Two_ on his ankle, probably from the leg of a c-stand. Taeyong traces the irregular shapes of both with his fingertips and then moves up.

 _Six, seven, eight,_ more bruises litter each of Johnny’s shins. _Nine, ten,_ a couple of really nasty ones on his left knee. Taeyong slips his fingers into the crook behind it and lifts it away from the mattress, guiding the joint into a gentle bend. He gives the bruise a chaste, lingering kiss. Farther up the bed, Johnny sighs. Taeyong smiles to himself, stroking over the thin, sensitive skin behind Johnny’s knee, and lowers it just as gently back to its resting place.

Above the knee, Johnny’s legs bear one or two more bruises, mostly on the outside where heavy equipment bounces against his thighs. Taeyong pokes and prods around the perimeter of each, pulling at the skin to watch the mottled spots stretch out of shape. His hips get the brunt of it. Although they don’t have a large number of bruises like Johnny’s arms or shins, the bruises here are bigger and nastier than anywhere else on his body.

Taeyong settles over Johnny’s thighs, his knees pressing into the bed on either side of Johnny’s legs, and lets his palms hover over his boyfriend’s hip bones. The bruise there is huge, almost the size of Taeyong’s hand, and overlaps the jut of Johnny’s pelvic bone. Johnny must have been more eager for this than he had let on because he did a haphazard job of drying off. Water collects in the natural dip of his pelvis, dissipating quickly under their ceiling fan but still damp enough to make his skin shine even where the bruise turns it such a dark red that it almost looks violet. Taeyong sweeps his thumb across it, dragging the leftover water droplets across the wounded skin, and Johnny sighs again.

“Does it hurt?” Taeyong asks. The pad of his thumb touches the bruise firmly, not pressing down just yet but resting heavily over it. He imagines he can feel the heat of the blood near the surface.

Johnny shakes his head. It lolls lazily back and forth across the pillow. “Not too bad. Just a little tender.”

Taeyong nods, eyes fixed on how Johnny’s hip looks framed by his hand. Perhaps a little meanly, he digs his thumb down into the soft, squishy part of Johnny’s pelvis, right into the edge of the bruise. Johnny sucks a pained breath in through his teeth. His hips arch up into the touch. Taeyong leans down to meet him, pressing the flat of his tongue to the bruise in the hollow of Johnny’s pelvis and licking a broad stripe up and over the peak of his hip bone.

He continues up the length of Johnny’s torso with the tip of his nose trailing along Johnny’s skin. It radiates gentle heat against Taeyong’s lips, still warm from the shower. Each time he comes across a new bruise, he kisses it and counts it under his breath. _Twelve. Thirteen._ Both of Taeyong’s hands sweep slowly up the curve of Johnny’s sides. He pays attention to each bump of Johnny’s ribs under his fingers as he goes. When he reaches the warm tuck of Johnny’s armpits, Taeyong sweeps his thumbs in a wide arc to tease both of Johnny’s nipples.

“Feeling good, Gumby?” he asks, voice low. He moves his hands to Johnny’s shoulders and rolls them gingerly under his palms, working them loose to gauge how much tension remains there.

Johnny makes a sound in his chest—not quite a moan, not quite a grunt, but a sound somewhere in between that Taeyong swears he’s heard before in a nature documentary about bears. The big man looks halfway boneless between Taeyong’s knees, absolutely melting into the bed beneath him with his eyes closed in bliss and his head lolling to the side on the pillow. He always puts on a big show of being inconvenienced by this little ritual Taeyong likes to do but seeing him reduced to Johnny-pudding is all the reassurance Taeyong needs to know that his partner enjoys it just as much as he does.

Settling more comfortably across Johnny’s thighs, Taeyong traces the intertwining pattern of the tattoo on his boyfriend’s shoulder with the barest touch of his thumb and middle finger. His other hand squeezes Johnny’s right shoulder with exploratory fingers that poke, press, and rub over the muscle definition. _God_ , but Taeyong loves Johnny’s body. He loves the _manliness_ of it. He loves how masculine his build is even when he hasn’t had time to build up the muscle tone that he has right now. His wide thighs, his straight hips and waist, the broadness of his chest, the proportions of his arms. He traces a vein in Johnny’s bicep, sighing when the muscle gives an involuntary twitch under his touch.

“I’m, like, totally obsessed with you, babe,” Taeyong says, a little wistful.

Johnny repeats his drowsy bear noise. His hands move atop the bedsheets like he wants to touch Taeyong but can’t summon the energy to pull himself out of the sticky pudding of relaxation to which Taeyong has successfully reduced him.

Taeyong finishes sketching Johnny’s tattoo and uses both hands to find the bruises on each arm to add them to his count: first the left arm— _seventeen_ —and then the right— _twenty_. He prods at the particularly ugly ones and gets lost for a moment imagining all the ways Johnny could’ve gotten them: lifting lights, wrangling cable, operating heavy equipment, hauling distro boxes, climbing up and down ladders. After he counts, he runs his hands down Johnny’s arms, all the way down to the fingertips, petting away any lingering stress with long, sure strokes.

Once he finishes with Johnny’s arms, Taeyong lets his fingers dance over the deep cut of his boyfriend’s collarbones before slipping around the back of Johnny’s neck and scratching up into his still-wet hair. There are no bruises on Johnny’s face but Taeyong rubs their noses together and kisses him regardless.

He gets off of Johnny’s legs and pulls insistently at Johnny’s shoulders and hips until the latter obediently allows himself to be turned over onto his front. “Johnny pancake,” Taeyong chirps.

“Flapjack,” Johnny mumbles into his pillow, unable to resist an opportunity to make a shitty pun. Taeyong pinches the meat of his ass to punish him for it.

“En-eff,” he says. “Not funny.” 

The corner of Johnny’s mouth rises in a mellow smile. “That’s why you’re the writer.”

Taeyong hums, already distracted by the newly exposed and uncharted stretch of skin. He settles between Johnny’s legs again, hands already moving to Johnny’s ankles to start the process over again. Feet—pressing his thumbs into the arch of each sole and massaging until he hears Johnny grunt into the pillow—ankles, calves. Twenty-two bruises. The backs of each of Johnny’s knees get special attention. He can’t resist feeling the soft, thin skin there with his lips. From there he climbs up the pillars of Johnny’s thighs, spreading them apart as he goes to make room for himself. _Twenty-three, twenty-four._ He doesn’t miss the minute rock of Johnny’s hips against the bed as Taeyong gets two good handfuls of Johnny’s ass and gives it a good spread-and-release to watch it bounce back.

“Your ass,” he mourns. “I’ll never have an ass like this.”

“‘M like y’ ass,” Johnny slurs. He hasn’t stopped the subtle grind of his hips. Taeyong gives his cheeks another little squeeze, rubbing his thumbs over the inside swells. It’s a small blessing that Johnny can’t see his face right now. He would no doubt give Taeyong shit for the downright fond smile he wears as he looks down at his boyfriend’s beautiful butt.

One hand stays on Johnny’s ass, pulling gently at one cheek to give his thumb space to rub circles around the dusky pucker of his asshole while his other hand reaches between the vee of Johnny’s legs to run a knuckle across his perineum. He lets the fingertips of that hand brush featherlight over what he can reach of Johnny’s balls, too. The muscles in Johnny’s thighs twitch in response. Taeyong glances up through his lashes to check Johnny’s expression. He bites his lip to hold back a smug giggle when he sees the slack line of Johnny’s jaw and how his lips, bitten red and puffy, gleam wetly in the lamplight.

Taeyong works his tongue in his mouth to get a good mouthful of spit and then lets it drip out of his mouth, slow and heavy, and land directly over Johnny’s asshole. Johnny flinches and then whines, low and drawn out, when Taeyong pushes his spit just past Johnny’s rim with the pad of his thumb.

“Sorry, baby,” Taeyong sighs, withdrawing his thumb and petting soothing circles over Johnny’s asscheeks. “Couldn’t help myself.” Johnny’s only response is to let go of a heavy breath.

Johnny’s back drives Taeyong almost as crazy as his shoulders, sculpted as it is in mountains and valleys of bone and muscle. There aren’t many bruises to count here, just one over his ribs where he must’ve bumped into something. _Twenty-five._ Taeyong shifts onto the back of Johnny’s thighs and takes a quick pause to grip his dick near the base and take a deep breath before moving on.

He allows the wings of Johnny’s shoulder blades to split his fingers, slipping his index and middle fingers into the hollow while his ring fingers and pinkies glide over the hard planes of the bones. Somehow an irregular-shaped bruise has made its way onto Johnny’s right shoulder just below his trapezius.

Taeyong leans over to bury his nose in the crook of Johnny’s neck. As his chest drapes across Johnny’s back, he can’t resist rutting into the cleft of Johnny’s ass for the few seconds it takes for Taeyong to lick over the odd bruise in one broad, slow stroke. _Twenty-six._

With his ear this close to Johnny’s mouth, he can hear the wet hitch in Johnny’s breath when Taeyong’s cock drags past his asshole. “‘Yong,” he groans.

Taeyong squeezes Johnny’s waist, sweeping his thumbs along either side of his spinal column, and rolls his hips again. “You’re so lovely, John. So, so lovely.” He moves his hands back to those broad, broad shoulders. “Strong and handsome. So big. Can’t resist you, baby, have never been able to resist you.”

Johnny’s lashes flutter. They clump together wetly. Taeyong resists the urge to kiss his eyelids. Instead, he forces himself to sit up. The sight of his dick nestled in the cleft of Johnny’s ass is almost enough to reel him back in but Taeyong is intent on completing his ritual before getting any further sidetracked.

More bruises litter the backs of Johnny’s biceps. _Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine._ Taeyong digs his thumbs into each one until the skin around his nail beds turns white.

He follows the line of Johnny’s ulna down to the bump of his wrist— _thirty_ —and then over the heel of his palm. Twining their fingers together, he leans across Johnny’s back again to leave a heady kiss beneath the shelf of his jawbone. He tugs at Johnny’s earlobe with his teeth and whispers, “What do you think, Gumby? Will you let me take good care of you?” He spreads both palms across Johnny’s back and pets up and down the length of his spine. “I’ll make you feel so sweet, so good.”

Johnny turns his nose further into the pillow, breathes deeply through his nose, and then nods. “S’good.”

A thrill shoots up Taeyong’s spine and trills back down into the pit of his stomach. He hides his grin in the soft skin behind Johnny’s ear for a moment before detaching himself from Johnny’s back.

It’s even more difficult to roll Johnny onto his back again. When he finally manages to get his big boyfriend to turn over, Taeyong’s cheeks flush at the little wet spot on the sheets that matches the one on the pillow. He coos, mercifully wrapping his hand around Johnny’s cock to give it a few gentle strokes. He’s fully hard, harder than Taeyong expected him to be after several minutes of petting. “Felt so good, didn’t you, baby? Got our sheets all messy.”

A big sigh makes Johnny’s chest rise and fall. He nods, eyes still closed.

Taeyong guides Johnny’s knees to bend, arranging them into a wide set vee to give himself room to work. He leans over Johnny to reach inside their bedside drawer for the bottle of lube they keep there. While he’s rummaging through the drawer, he feels one of Johnny’s hands caress the skin over his ribs and looks down, surprised.

Johnny smiles up at him, dopey and lovelorn. “Hi,” he mumbles. “You’re handsome.”

Taeyong presses his lips together to suppress a cheesy smile and arches his back so he can kiss Johnny, sweet and tender. “ _You’re_ handsome,” he retorts.

“But you’re, like, really _really_ handsome.” Johnny’s hands pet his sides clumsily. “You’re, like, all sharp edges everywhere. I like it, s’ so… You’re handsome.”

Taeyong snorts, sitting back on his heels to open the lube and squirt some out into his hand. “That’s just code for bony-ass twink.”

Johnny shakes his head, rousing slightly from his drowsy state in his indignance. “Don’t talk about my sexy, manly boyfriend like that.”

That absolutely can’t go on or all of Taeyong’s plans to pamper his boyfriend into cum-dumb oblivion will be interrupted by a sudden desire to ride his dick into the sunset. He shuts Johnny up with another kiss. It doubles as a nice distraction from the initial discomfort when Taeyong presses his lube-slick middle finger past Johnny’s rim.

They don’t do this often. Taeyong generally prefers bottoming with Johnny. Even though he enjoys topping (who wouldn’t, when his boyfriend has an ass like that?), he doesn’t have great stamina for it; most days they fall into their sexual rhythm with Johnny on top. Still, Taeyong knows that Johnny loves getting fucked so he’s always up for switching when he gets in the right mood—and nothing gets Taeyong in the right mood better than having Johnny sprawled out, blissful, and boneless underneath him.

He may have bad stamina but—according to his resume—he _is_ task-oriented. He preps Johnny quickly and efficiently. Johnny loves getting fingered, too, but Taeyong has a little more planned for tonight.

Johnny squirms when Taeyong slips his fingers out of his ass. “A little longer,” he mumbles. “Please?”

Taeyong buttons Johnny’s lips with a sweet little kiss. “Was thinking maybe we could play with that new toy I ordered for my birthday.” He rubs Johnny’s toned stomach with his clean hand while he presses his nose to the shell of his boyfriend’s ear to whisper, “The pretty glass one with the bubbles?”

A full-body shiver shakes its way from the crown of Johnny’s head all the way down his legs. “Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles. “Yeah, please, yeah. God, you’re gonna kill me.”

“That’s the goal,” Taeyong laughs. He leaves Johnny with another lingering kiss before crawling across to his side of the bed to lay on his stomach and rummage through his own nightstand. “I’m gonna kill you and then make off with your fortune like a sexy French widow.”

Johnny snorts. Taeyong is gratified to hear his voice still sound a little faint as he jibes back, “What fortune?”

The dildo is hidden underneath the folder in which Taeyong keeps all of their important documents. “You know, all that money you make being a BBE. That’s a fortune compared to my assistant’s pay.” He pulls the little fabric bag out by the strings and pours the toy out into his hand. The glass is cool to the touch but warms quickly in Taeyong’s palm. Even the weight of it feels good. “God, I’m so glad I bought this.”

“Lemme see.”

Taeyong rolls over onto his back, laying close enough that their shoulders press together. He holds the toy up so it catches the light from the lamp. The straight lines of their room bend and warp in the curvature of the transparent glass bubbles that start small and grow in circumference as they stack.

A low whistle breaks their contemplative silence. “Nice,” says Johnny.

Taeyong snorts and sits up, rummaging through their covers to find the lube he’d tossed aside earlier. “Only you could talk about a sex toy like it’s a muscle car.”

“Mm. That’s the straight half of my brain taking over.” The sheets rustle behind Taeyong’s back as Johnny stretches his arms over his head. “Cars. Boobs. Trucker hats. A capella. Damian Chazelle.”

“I thought I told you to never bring that name into our bedroom.”

Johnny laughs. “Who? Damian Chazelle?”

Taeyong shudders dramatically. “Stop, you’ll kill my boner.”

His stomach jumps as Johnny’s arms wrap around him from behind. “My bad.” He nuzzles close to Taeyong’s ear and puts on an overly-breathy, played up “sexy” voice to moan, “Greta Gerwig. _Inside Llewyn Davis_. Taika Waititi.”

A well-placed elbow in the gut cuts Johnny off but Taeyong can’t help the sappy smile that quirks up the corners of his mouth at the sound of his boyfriend’s breathless little laugh.

Revenge comes to Taeyong a few short moments later when Johnny’s smart mouth hangs open, all his witticisms reduced to high, broken-off vocalisations as Taeyong works the dildo in and out of his ass. Johnny goes particularly weak when Taeyong uses the varying sizes of the glass bubbles to torment him—which is good because Taeyong is quickly discovering that is his favorite part of using this toy.

(Of course, it may be his favorite part _because_ it makes Johnny so weak.)

“Please, Taeyong,” Johnny whines. Taeyong can see him bear down on the next bubble through the glass of the dildo. “Enough. Want _you_.”

The breath leaves Taeyong’s chest in a single exhale. “Fuck,” he mutters. He teases Johnny with the next bubble of the dildo—the third largest, nearly meeting where Taeyong holds the toy. He plays at pushing it past Johnny’s pink, stretched-out rim a few times before pulling the toy out completely. He slips it out at a pace that he knows from experience feels _excruciatingly slow_ on the other end, letting Johnny feel each bubble stretch him and then relent in succession. Johnny rewards his effort with a high gasp. He sounds close to tears.

When the last bubble of the glass piece pops free, Taeyong keeps Johnny’s cheeks spread to watch how his asshole winks, alternately clenching and relaxing as it mourns the loss of the dildo. It practically _begs_ Taeyong to replace it with his cock. He licks his lips and wraps a tight fist around the base of his dick. _Whoa, boy,_ he thinks. _Not yet._

He takes a deep breath. “Condom? No condom? You want it on your back like this, or?” he asks. Johnny just makes a petulant whining noise that translates to, _I do not want to make a decision right now_. Taeyong leans over Johnny, bracing himself on either side of his chest. “Hey. Look at me.”

Johnny’s eyes open to half-mast. “Mm?”

A rush of affection surges through Taeyong’s chest, warming him even on top of the sex flush he can feel high on his cheeks and shoulders. He cups Johnny’s cheek and revels in the way Johnny turns his face into the touch to kiss the inside of Taeyong’s wrist. “I love you, baby,” says Taeyong.

Johnny sighs through his nose—a good sigh. His head is heavy in Taeyong’s hand. His eyes slip closed again even as he reaches between them to wrap around Taeyong’s dick and give it a few loose strokes. 

Message received. Taeyong laughs a little to himself before sitting back on his heels. He arranges Johnny’s legs (with some difficulty—the latter has truly turned to jelly on the sheets). Once everything’s in place, he lines himself up.

They both suck in a breath through their teeth as Taeyong pushes in. He laughs again—albeit a bit weaker this time—but Johnny doesn’t seem to notice. “God,” mumbles the latter. “Thought we’d never get here.”

Taeyong grapples with Johnny’s thighs, trying to get a better grip. “Let me—” He stops halfway, breathless. “Let me know when you’re—”

“I’m ready, I’m ready.” Johnny’s legs move, wrapping tight around Taeyong’s waist. “Fuck, ‘yong, you just fucked me stupid on that dildo for like half an hour, I’m fucking ready.”

Fucking Johnny is lovely for a lot of reasons but Taeyong’s favorite will always be the sounds he makes. Johnny’s not super loud during sex as a rule. It takes a lot to get him to be straight-up noisy the way Taeyong can be sometimes but Taeyong doesn’t need him to beloud. This is enough—faces close together, holding Johnny as best he can, eyes half-open as though that’ll make it easier for him to focus on the choked-up noises his cock drives out of Johnny’s mouth. Taeyong has always had a special affinity for boy moans but Johnny moans are something else entirely. Deep register, deeper even than his usual speaking voice, and then gradually bending upwards in pitch to soft, wordless gasps.

Before long, Taeyong has to stop and sit up again. Johnny grabs at his arms, trying to pull him back. “Keep going,” he pleads.

“I’m about to come,” Taeyong pants. “And my arms are tired.”

“So just come,” Johnny whines. “I’m close, too.” And sure enough, when Johnny’s fist slides down to the base of his dick Taeyong can see precum gathered at the head. “Just a little more, please.”

And, well, he did say _please_ , and Taeyong is particularly weak for Johnny’s _please_ , so he rolls his shoulders, frames Johnny’s hips with both hands, and ignores his fatigue in favor of fucking his boyfriend until said boyfriend’s eyes roll into the back of his head.

It’s worth it—it’s absolutely worth it—to see Johnny’s stomach flex and his back arch up off the mattress. Taeyong bites his lip at the feeling of Johnny’s body tightening around him like a vice. He sucks in a sharp breath and pulls out half a second too late—he’s already coming as he does. He curses as he finishes across the joint of Johnny’s hip.

Johnny comes a moment later. His entire body locks up, going rigid as he shoots across his stomach and over both of their fingers. Then he goes completely lax and his hand slips away, leaving Taeyong to milk the rest of Johnny’s orgasm out of him with hands still shaky from his own.

A final wheeze ekes out of Johnny’s chest and he paws clumsily at Taeyong’s hands. Taeyong lets out a long breath and flops down, half on Johnny’s chest and half on the bed. It’s too hot but his nerve endings are still tingling in a way that makes him want lots of skin-to-skin contact.

He rubs his face over the inked-in lavender petals on Johnny’s shoulder and counts the beats of his own pulse. _Love you, love you, love you. Always, always, always._ He kisses the point of Johnny’s shoulder.

Quiet stretches between them. Through their home, over their bed, around their bodies. Neither of them is in any hurry to move. After all— there’s nowhere else to be but with each other.

Without opening his eyes, Johnny asks, “Wha’s th’ final count?” His words blur with exhaustion.

Taeyong rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling for a few minutes, his post-coital brain struggling to catch up before he makes the connection to what Johnny is asking. “Thirty,” he answers. “Four more since last time.”

“Damn.” One of Johnny’s legs flops to the side, his knee knocking into Taeyong’s thigh. “Was hoping we’d topped the record.”

He shoves Johnny’s leg away but immediately feels bad and rolls over again to kiss Johnny’s cheek in apology. “Yeah, jeez, Johnny, be less careful at work. We have a personal best to beat.”

“Mm. Will do.” Johnny loops his arm around Taeyong’s waist and pulls him close, nuzzling against Taeyong’s temple. His lips find Taeyong’s scar and kiss it delicately. “I love you, Rosie.”

That familiar feeling— _the Johnny feeling_ —flutters in Taeyong’s chest. Both of their bodies are still running over-hot but he allows Johnny to gather him up against his chest without complaining. He feels small like this, tucked in the circle of Johnny’s arms and barely able to peek over the rise of his deltoids: small and cherished and _loved_ , like a perfect little Christmas package. Even after two years, it still brings tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. 

He slips his arms under Johnny’s own and settles his hands over the backs of his shoulders. “I love you, too,” he whispers. “More than anything, Gumby. I love you.”

Johnny doesn’t reply—he’s already asleep, in true John Suh fashion, snoring gently in Taeyong’s ear. Taeyong extricates himself from his grip just enough to lean over his shoulder and turn out the lamp. Johnny grunts, half-rousing, and cinches his arms tighter around Taeyong’s waist. 

He makes a face and pushes gently at Johnny’s hands. “I’m just gonna get a washcloth.”

Johnny pouts, eyes closed. “Don’ go.”

Taeyong laughs under his breath and lets himself be pulled back down. “Okay, okay. I’m not.”

_No,_ he thinks as Johnny bundles him closer with a rumble of that sleepy bear growl of his. It’s taken Taeyong almost three years to get here. Now that he finally has it—finally has _Johnny_ … 

He threads his fingers through the hair on the back of Johnny’s head, combing through the damp tangles, and kisses his forehead. Lips pressed to Johnny’s skin, Taeyong promises, “I’m not going anywhere.”

end of reel one.

(load reel two.)

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/kittyong/)   
>  [curiouscat](https://www.curiouscat.me/teddykun)   
> 


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